


Wrap You Up, Lay You Down

by homoeroticismforthewin



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: M/M, Semi-Drabble, SniffleFic, smut-free, unbetaed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-25
Updated: 2012-10-25
Packaged: 2017-11-17 00:08:52
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,465
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/545336
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/homoeroticismforthewin/pseuds/homoeroticismforthewin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles is Sick. Derek is surprisingly Nice.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Wrap You Up, Lay You Down

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ladyblahblah](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ladyblahblah/gifts).



> This was a gift for Ladyblahblah, who is home sick and needed some cheering up.

Stiles heard the familiar sound of his window sliding open, and groaned. He rolled over, not even bothering to sit up.

“No way.”

“What?”

Stiles swallowed and winced, his throat raw and painful. “I can’t do any research for you, I can’t go on any stakeouts, I can’t confront any bad guys, I cannot come out and play today. I’m fucking Sick. Come back next week, when hopefully I’ll be Dead.”

He pulled the covers over his head and tried to ignore how much he hurt all over, how much he felt like complete ass, and how much he must look (and probably smell) like… well, like someone who’d been in bed in the same clothes for three solid days, sweating and groaning (not in the good way).

“You’re sick.”

“No shit, dude. I am indeed sick. Kudos on the epic listening skills. Now fuck off, before I infect you out of spite.”

Stiles’ voice was muffled by the heavy blanket that covered his face, but he was sure Derek could still hear him.  If he’d just Leave already, Stiles could try to go back to sleep. Instead, he felt the mattress compress as Derek sat on the edge of the bed, and pulled the covers down from Stiles’ face. Stiles started to growl, but then he remembered that his throat was full of ground glass and settled for a glower. Derek ignored him, and laid a cool hand on his forehead. Stiles rolled his eyes.

“You have a fever. When’s the last time you ate or drank anything?”

“I had… cereal? I think. Awhile ago?” Stiles wasn’t really sure. When he was sick he tended to delineate time only in terms of asleep, awake, and stumbling shivering to the bathroom. The cereal had been before the last couple of sleeps.

Derek glared at Stiles and heaved a sigh, before walking out the door.

“Good riddance.” Stiles huffed under his breath, before plummeting back into sleep.

***

He woke up to his mattress moving again.

“Seriously? You’re still here?”

Derek’s face didn’t move, he just hauled Stiles upright, Stiles moaning at the rough handling as Derek’s strong hands dug into his sore muscles.

“Jesus, take it easy will ya? I feel like crap already, I don’t need any bruises on top of this.”

Derek grunted and dropped Stiles abruptly. Stiles’ indignation was only slightly mollified by the fact that somehow Derek had arranged a nest of pillows behind him, so that instead of _thunk_ ing back into the headboard of his bed, he merely flopped back with a soft _fwump_. He was still trying to rally with some kind of insult (he was sick, okay, his brain was not working at top speed) when Derek grabbed one of his hands and cupped it around a warm mug. Stiles stared blearily down at it.

“You made me soup.” He said flatly.

Derek stared at him, one eyebrow raised in exasperated expectation.

“Is it poison?”

Derek rolled his eyes. “Yes, Stiles. I made you poison soup. With noodles.”

Stiles glared, but lowered his face to breathe in the steam rising off the golden liquid. Which even had little chunks of carrot bobbing around in it. "Hang on… we don’t have any chicken soup. Where did you get this?”

Stiles took a little sip. It was delicious, and just cool enough to drink. The steam was making him sniffle, but it was worth it to be able to breathe through his nose, and his throat felt a bit better from the warm, salty soup. He took a bigger swig.

“I made it.”

Stiles almost choked on the soup, eyes goggling.

“Stop looking at me like I’m an alien. I know how to cook, okay? And my pack had both humans and wolves, we always had a bunch of kids around, so yeah. I learned how to take care of sick people. Including making soup. Which, by the way, this doesn’t even count. I had to use store-bought stock, and that shitty fusilli from your pantry. I was lucky you guys had carrots.”

Stiles continued to stare.

“Stiles, just eat your damn soup.” Derek thrust a spoon towards him like a rapier, Stiles taking it meekly from Derek’s hand and bending back over the mug.

Derek sighed, and ran a hand through his hair. He stood up and walked back out, closing Stiles’ bedroom door behind him.

***

Stiles desperately had to pee. Derek had been back with more soup a few times and he was about to burst. He swung his legs over the edge of the bed, and he must have tried to stand up too fast, or something, because the next thing he knew, he was sprawled on his bedroom floor and shivering.

“Ow.” Stiles rubbed his knee gingerly, and tried to stand again. Ugh. So, not just weak from being sick, but also he’d officially screwed up his knee. Fuck. He felt so pathetic that he considered just pulling the blanket down from the bed and staying there. He heard an exasperated sigh, and looked up to find Derek looming over him, scowling.

“Stiles, you idiot. If you had to get up, you could have just called me. I was right downstairs.”

“Yeah, because I really wanted you to help me to the bathroom, right? I’m not an invalid, Derek, I’m just fucking sick.”

“Stiles, you don’t have some little allergy, you are flat-on-your-ass with god knows what, and you suck at taking care of yourself. I’ll bet you’ve barely eaten in days. It’s no wonder you fell down. So stop being such a moron, and let me Help you, damn it.”

Stiles glared back, but when Derek slid a strong arm under his, looping it over Derek’s shoulders, he didn’t protest. Stiles limped to the bathroom with Derek’s steadying hand on his hip. After helping him most of the way in and enduring Stiles’ incredulous stare for a few seconds, Derek ducked back out into the hallway, where he leaned against the closed door. Stiles silently sent out a thank you to the universe that the grab-bars were still up from when his mom had been sick. Otherwise, he’d probably have Derek standing behind him helping him aim. And, Dammit, his brain was Not his friend.

“You should probably have a shower at some point. You’ll feel better.” Derek called back over his shoulder and through the door. He could practically _hear_ Stiles rolling his eyes. Over the sound of him peeing. Derek shook his head, as though trying to dislodge the idea.

When he heard the toilet flush, he knocked on the door sharply before letting himself in. Apparently the notice hadn’t been sufficient because Stiles was flushed bright pink. He wasn’t _indecent_ or anything, but his pants weren’t zipped up, either.

“Jesus, dude! Boundaries!”

***

Derek did manage to talk him into the shower, and yes, it was as awkward as he’d feared. But the hot water felt incredible, even if he was wobbly. Derek had helped him get his shirt and pants off, but left him to manage the rest, and had said he’d be camped out outside the bathroom to listen in case Stiles fell again. So much for alone time.

Anyway, so now Stiles was enjoying washing off three days’ worth of bed-sweat and sick-grime and taking a very long, hot shower. With Derek freaking Hale right outside the door. Listening. If Stiles didn’t still feel so much like shit he’d be having a very different kind of bath-time fun with that image. As it was he was kind of getting off on the idea, but only in the abstract sense, because frankly he was light-headed and jelly-kneed enough right now. He glared down at his hard-on. “Shoo! Go away!”

“What?”

“Nothing!” Stiles yelled, wincing, turning off the shower. Fucking werewolf hearing.

***

When Stiles got back to his bedroom, one hand grabbing Derek for support (he was even wobblier now from the hot shower), and the other clutching desperately at the towel slung around his hips, his mouth dropped open in shock.

“You changed my sheets, too?”

“Yeah, you’ve been sweating all over them for days. I thought you might like clean sheets.”

“And my PJs?”

“Hey, feel free to put your gross gym shirt back on if you want, but it smells and could probably use a wash.”

“Yeah, but like, actual pajamas? I usually just sleep in my t-shirt and boxers…” Stiles trailed off a little, blushing.

Derek groaned.

“Stiles, just go back to bed.”

Stiles had the perfect comeback ready this time, really he did, but his bed just looked so inviting, all cool and clean and soft, and he was all warm and sleepy from the shower… Yeah, he was gonna let this one go.

***

The next time Stiles woke up, it was to the sound of humming. _Derek_ humming. Stiles was pretty sure he was delirious. Because Derek Hale, Alpha Werewolf, was puttering around his room with a wastebasket in his hand (oh GOD, cleaning up his Kleenex, and empty medicine packaging, and throwing his dirty laundry into the hamper, including the crusty towel by the bed, and oh God, Stiles was _going_ to die), and the entire time he was HUMMING.

Actually, the song was sort of familiar. It was sweet and soft and old-fashioned. It reminded Stiles of his mom, who used to sing to him when he was sick as a little kid. Holy crap, was Derek Hale humming a lullaby? Stiles was absolutely sure he was delirious. Yes, this was definitely the fever. It had to be.

“There’s tea with honey and lemon on the nightstand if you want it.”

Derek hadn’t even looked up from his tidying, although he did stop humming. Stiles reached eagerly for the tea, but couldn’t help noticing that the tips of Derek’s ears (about all Stiles could see of him from where he was crouching next to the laundry hamper) were a bit pink.

He let himself out of Stiles’ room, laundry hamper tucked under his arm, and wastebasket in hand.

***

Stiles had dozed a bit, but hadn’t actually felt like going back to sleep after Derek left the last time. He was a bit afraid that he’d wake up and this whole bizarre Nanny-Wolf interlude would have been a dream. He tried to read for a bit, but his eyes were still kind of bleary and his head hurt, and it still hurt to swallow after he’d finished the tea. Stiles was actually getting kind of bored, which was usually a good sign, since it meant getting he was getting a bit better.

He considered grabbing his laptop and putting on a movie, but when he went to stand up, his legs still felt really wobbly, and his twisted knee twinged, so he collapsed back down. He ended up just lying there wondering what would happen if he called for Derek to bring him some more soup, or to come watch a movie with him. Would Derek decide he was better enough and go home?

Stiles wasn’t exactly sure why Derek was there to begin with. Did he have some kind of really big research project that needed Stiles’ attention? Was it a way of trying to get back on Scott’s good side? And why didn’t he want Derek to know he was feeling better?

Sure it was nice to have someone bringing him delicious homemade soup, and, yeah, Stiles could admit it, he liked being mothered every now and then, so sue him. But… there was more. He didn’t want Derek to _go_.  He didn’t want him to leave, and he didn’t want him to go back to being… Derek. All surly and distant and totally indifferent to Stiles, except when he needed him. Stiles sighed.

Well, that was depressing. He flopped back down on his bed. Huh. It was oddly silent in the house.

“Derek?” Stiles muttered.

Nothing in the house moved.

“Derek?” He tried again, louder.

He held his breath listening.

“Derek?”

Huh. All that worrying for nothing. Apparently Derek had gotten bored with playing nurse and gone home. Huh. Stiles couldn’t say he blamed the guy. He’d have to send him a thank you card or something eventually. Stiles burrowed his face into his pillow, eyes squeezed shut. Maybe he’d try to get a bit more sleep after all. His nose was running, and his eyes were watering. So much for getting better. He hurt all over. He pulled the blankets back up over his head.

***

Derek was sitting on the edge of his bed looking concerned, and he had a hand cupped around Stiles’ shoulder through the blankets.

“Stiles? Stiles, wake up. I heard you calling for me…”

Stiles wiped at his eyes with his fists, blinked blearily, yawned and stretched.

“What? You were gone. I didn’t know where you went…”

He wriggled closer to Derek, flopping bonelessly around in the bed, and snuffling , clearly still half asleep.

“I was at Deaton’s. I got this for you…” He brandished a bottle and a small jar.

Stiles heaved himself up onto one elbow, making grabby hands.

“Oooh, what’s that? Magical fun?”

Derek smirked. “Herbal remedies. A tonic and a salve.”

Stiles frowned. “Huh. Old-fashioned names, and I bet I can smell the gag-inducing taste from here. That’s way less fun.”

“Yeah, but Deaton says they’ll help. He says they stimulate your immune system. Astragalus, Elder Flower, Osha Root, White Willow bark, and Licorice in the tonic; he wouldn’t say what was in the jar, but apparently they have to be used together.”

“Huh. I dunno.” Stiles eyed the little bottle warily.

“Just… I’ll go get you some soup or something to chase it with. Why don’t you pick out a movie to watch and when I come back, we’ll do the medicine thing and watch a movie and see if that helps. Okay?” Derek clapped a hand to Stiles’ shoulder, rubbed briskly.

“Uh, yeah… Sure.”

***

When Derek got back, Stiles was bent over the foot of his bed, ass in the air pawing through piles of DVD cases. Derek’s eyebrows shot up his forehead, but he didn’t say anything, just walked carefully over to place two mugs of soup on the nightstand, eyes continually flicking over to make sure Stiles wasn’t overbalancing. Sure, that was why he was looking.

“A-ha!” Stiles exclaimed, “Definitely this one.”

Derek grabbed Stiles’ laptop from his desk, and pulled it over, gratified to find that the power cord reached the bed easily. He snatched the DVD case out of Stiles’ hand.

“Medicine first.” He nodded towards the bottle, lying on the bed.

Stiles made a face and stuck out his tongue, but gingerly picked up the bottle. The liquid in it was greenish brown, and fairly watery. He uncorked the top, and whimpered piteously as the strong medicinal smell hit him. Derek sympathized. That stuff smelled noxious.

“Just drink it all at once. Apparently you only need one dose.”

Stiles huffed sulkily, glaring at the bottle as though it meant him harm. Then he winced, tipped it into his mouth, and swallowed exaggeratedly. A second later, his shoulders hunched as fought down his gag reflex. Derek winced, instinctively reaching out to rub circles across his back.

Stiles’ eyes were tearing up, and he was breathing out through his mouth with a throaty hissing sound like some kind of pterodactyl. If Derek didn’t feel so sorry for him, he’d laugh. Instead, he snatched up the mug of soup and offered it to Stiles. Who squeezed his eyes shut and shook his head.

Derek figured the next step was to distract him, and the best way to distract Stiles was always to get him talking.

“So what’s this movie about, anyway? It looks weird.”

Stiles was still wincing and making faces, but he managed to grit out an answer.

“D.E.B.S.? It’s not weird, it’s awesome. It’s about a bunch of hot schoolgirls who are actually super-spies taking on this super-villain who has a crush on one of them. They got selected through a secret test hidden inside the SAT. What’s not to like?”

“Uh… I don’t think the full charm of the movie is coming through in the description. Because it sounds kind of stupid.”

“It _is_ kind of stupid, but in a really awesome way.”

Stiles’ face seemed to be almost back to normal, so Derek handed him the box of Kleenex from the nightstand and when Stiles had finished mopping his face, he handed him his soup.

“Are you okay? Ready for the movie?”

Stiles grinned. “Are You ready? This is going to rock your world.”

Derek picked up his soup, settled back against the headboard, and pronounced himself ready as Stiles put the movie on.

***

They were a few minutes into the movie, and Derek was already a fan of the sassy French girl and the bossy leader when he remembered the little jar, and reached out to pause the movie.

“Hey!” Stiles exclaimed.

“Sorry, we just forgot the other half of the medicine.”

“Oh, shit. Right.” Stiles sighed. “What do I have to do?”

Derek looked away, his cheeks heating. “Uh. Take off your shirt…”

Stiles’ eyebrows rose.

“Seriously?”

“Yeah, it’s like a liniment or something. It’s supposed to engage your lymphatic system and help with your sore muscles.”

Stiles nodded resignedly, and turned away, pulling his shirt over his head.

“Wait, where does this stuff go? Because I can’t really reach most of my sore muscles, since its mostly my back…”

“Yeah, apparently that’s a thing, where someone else has to rub it in. Deaton was kind of specific.”

“Wow. That’s… skeezy.” Stiles paused, considering. “Okay, but can we put the movie on while we do this? Because otherwise I’m just going to be paying attention and… it’ll get weird.”

Derek quirked an eyebrow. “Yeah, because that’ll prevent it from being weird.”

Stiles clicked the movie back on, and climbed to sit in front of Derek.

***

Stiles tried to focus on the movie. He really tried. But the salve was making his skin feel all warm and tingly, and Derek’s strong hands weren’t just rubbing it in, they were basically giving him the best massage he’d ever had. He couldn’t help it. He groaned.

Derek’s hands stilled.

“Too much?”

Stiles flushed. “Uh, no. No, it’s okay. You can… keep going.”

He turned back to the movie, but he couldn’t focus. Derek’s thumbs were digging in and stroking deep, firm lines along the sides of his spine, under his shoulder blades, up the back of his neck. He moaned.

This time Derek’s hands kept moving, fingers splayed out across Stiles’ ribcage smoothing down his sides to the tops of his hipbones, before his thumbs dug in again, making tiny circles across the tense muscles of his low back. Stiles flopped forward, chin on his fists on the bedspread, only half listening to the movie, and moaning shamelessly now, because _damn_ , he’d been wrong. This stuff _had_ to be magic.

Amy and Lucy Diamond were just on their first date, and Derek had covered every square inch of Stiles’ back, the back of his neck, over his shoulders and down his arms, when he started to slide his hands around Stiles’ sides, long fingers cupping his body, reaching under to slip up his abdomen towards his chest. Stiles inhaled sharply.

“Here, sit up a bit so I can get your chest…” Derek mumbled.

Stiles sat up, and Derek tugged him back so he was positioned in the nook between Derek’s spread legs, leaning back against Derek’s broad chest. At some point he’d taken his shirt off, too.

“Where’s… your shirt?” Stiles asked, voice going a little high.

“I, uh, I took it off so I didn’t get it covered in…” Derek’s chest vibrated a little as his voice rumbled.

“Oh, yeah,” Stiles breathed. “That makes sense.”

Derek reached thick arms around Stiles, smoothing the slightly greasy balm down and across his chest and belly, rubbing it in with slow circles of his callused fingertips and smooth strokes of his thumbs. Eventually his hands stilled, spread protectively across Stiles’ pale flesh. Stiles felt the warm tickle of the stuff beginning to work, and his muscles beginning to go loose. His head dropped back and to the side, resting gently on Derek’s shoulder, and a moment later he felt Derek’s stubbly chin come to rest against the side of his neck, his surprisingly soft lips warm and dry against his neck. They scritched gently against his skin as he murmured.

“Feeling any better?”

Stiles smiled broadly, feeling better than he had in days, despite being sick. He snuggled back against Derek, and laced his fingers through Derek’s across his belly.

“Shh… I’m watching the movie.”


End file.
